


When the Sun Came Up

by thatsmistertoyou



Series: Right Where We Are [5]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Cold Phan, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New York City, basically based around their 2013 trip to NYC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4943581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsmistertoyou/pseuds/thatsmistertoyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to the existing parts of the RWWA series; in which Dan and Phil learn how to be in love again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Sun Came Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hunterfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunterfics/gifts).



> Beat'ed by the wonderful philslesters  
> Warnings for brief mentions of sex and alcohol.
> 
> It’s still @hearteyeshowell’s birthday in like california or smth so it still counts right?? This one goes out to my most wonderful space child ily Hunter and I hope you like this <3 shoutouts are also due to niv’s 2012 tag and nate’s headcanons for the inspiration to make a cohesive narrative out of that one line from Walking on Eggshells:
> 
> "He can’t quite remember when his happy place stopped being made up and took on more familiar faces… [like] curling up in the same bed as Phil for the first time in months with heavy rain pounding against the window of their Manhattan hotel room."
> 
> Also, x’s indicate scene breaks and horizontal lines indicate flashbacks. Okay enjoy <3

After halfheartedly throwing a few pairs of boxers, two jumpers, and his laptop charger into his open suitcase on the floor, Dan decides that’s enough packing for now. Karma ensures that he nearly trips on it when he makes a move towards the piano; having paid his retribution, he sits down on the bench and decides that, yes, this exact moment is the best time to perfect his rendition of _Karma Police._

He plunks the keys lazily as a warm up, tiptoeing down the length of the keyboard. Nondescript rustlings come from Phil’s room, as he’s probably scrambling around looking for that thing that he’s both forgotten and lost. To his credit, he’ll be done packing first.

Dan goes a whole five minutes of practice without smashing the keys in frustration - which is both sad and a personal best. He hears Phil zip his suitcases closed with a speed that can only indicate finality, and it surprises him more than it should when Phil appears in his doorway, peeking his head in.

“How’s it going?” Phil asks, his voice small.

Dan opens his mouth and then shuts it, unsure of what Phil’s talking about: packing or playing. Doesn’t matter, he supposes. “Could be worse.”

“Need some help?” Phil asks, more out of the room than he is in.

“Not really,” Dan says, too curtly. He’s tired of being the bad guy. “You can come in, though.”

Phil nearly trips on the suitcase too, and Dan throws him an apologetic glance. Phil settles on Dan’s bed, cross-legged and attentive. Dan gives a small sigh at the fact that Phil knew just what he was invited to do, and Dan knew that he’d like to hear him play.

Dan picks up where he left off, his fingers less agile now that he has an audience, but he gives it his best go. Eventually he fucks up and goes into an entirely different Radiohead song, but he hardly planned to stop and wait for applause anyway.

Last time Dan played for Phil properly - maybe a year, year and a half ago - Phil sat on the bench with him, chin tucked over Dan’s shoulder and arm around his waist. Phil complained that Dan hadn’t learnt anything new, and that playing _Fur Elise_ for the hundredth time posed no challenge, so he told Dan to keep playing while he quite literally breathed down Dan’s neck. Dan pushed him away after about seven seconds of that, but when Phil came back with neck kisses instead, the distraction was more welcome.

He carries on, teeth digging into his bottom lip, until he’s exhausted his repertoire and isn’t even sure if Phil’s still listening. He turns round, making a vague ‘that’s all’ gesture, and Phil grins. He’s laid down on Dan’s bed, feet dangling off the edge and arms tucked under his head. For a moment, Dan wonders if he’ll stay.

Phil sits up and claps, and Dan half-smiles.

“How’d I do?”

“Not bad. Only slept through half of it.”

“Thanks.”

Phil smiles, mouth closed and self-satisfied, and uses his toe to spin one of the wheels on Dan’s suitcase. “Going to finish packing soon?”

“The concerto’s ended, hasn’t it?” Dan replies, and it’s more like an admission of defeat than a fact. He hates packing.

“Yup,” Phil says, standing up, his gaze transferring from the door to Dan. “Sure you don’t need help?”

“No, I just need to do it,” Dan says, plucking his phone from his pocket. “Made a checklist and everything.”

Phil nods, swoops down to give Dan a kiss on the top of his head, before making his ungraceful exit. “See you at ten, yeah?”

“What time’s our flight leaving again?” Dan calls after him, just to make sure Phil knows.

“Three twenty-eight.”

“Right. Goodnight.”

“Night,” Phil calls back, and closes both of their doors behind him.

Dan wonders if he had even considered staying, but Phil’s a creature of habit, and that’s not their routine anymore.

He really fucking hates packing.

x

Dan’s not tired enough to lean his head against the dirty cab window, but he leans heavily into his hand and people watches, tilts his head back to try the see the tops of the buildings. Manhattan’s a lot to take in, even more so than London; it’s impossibly denser, taller, busier. He knows that’s probably not true demographically, but that’s how it feels.

Phil’s doing the same thing as Dan, staring out the window in wide-eyed wonderment. Neither of them have ever been to New York City properly, and tomorrow they’ve got a whole day to beat the jetlag and be touristy. Fuse has some sightseeing in their itinerary already, but they want to do a bit of their own exploring. It’ll probably include a lot of pancakes and getting lost, but Dan’s okay with that.

Both of their free hands linger in the middle seat, Phil’s fingers brushing against the back of Dan’s hand every once in a while. Eventually Dan takes the hint, his fingers intertwining with Phil’s automatically when they’ve stopped in traffic.

Dan hates himself for glancing at the cab driver, who’s looking at him through the rearview mirror. Dan doesn’t think he can see their hands from that angle, but it’s enough to make Dan glance at Phil, unsure. Phil’s looking back at him, and follows Dan’s glance order in reverse, his eyes settling on their hands.

Dan might just leave it out of defiance, to spite the possibly homophobic taxi man or show Phil he won’t back down from a tiny bit of PDA. Guilt pools low in his gut, and he decides Phil deserves better than hand holding out of perceived obligation, so he retracts his hand.

Phil doesn’t make eye contact until they’re alone in the hotel elevator, watching the numbers tick up to floor fifty seven. Dan wants to take his hand now, brush his lips against Phil’s knuckles and stop being such a goddamn coward, but he hates showing him affection to make amends for being a dick. Maybe one day he’ll be able to remember how to do it out of love.

x

Dan wakes up to Phil turning on the shower at - he stretches and squints at the clock - six in the morning. So much for beating the jetlag. He pulls the covers tighter around himself and glances at Phil’s bed, wondering why the fuck it’s so bright in here, and concluding that Phil had forgotten to close the curtains.

It reminds him of their first few weeks in London, when things like window shades seemed too trivial to go on a shopping list, so they wound up pulling the covers over their heads or burying their faces into the other’s chest. The day after they got blinds for Phil’s room, Phil forgot to close them, and the sun made striped rays of light on his bare shoulders. They didn’t quite make it out of bed that day.

Dan would give anything for a day like that, as it’s the perfect day for it, but mostly he just wants Phil to come back in the room so he can groan at him to close the curtains. When he does,  Phil obliges and stays quiet while Dan falls back asleep for another few hours.

There’s room service pancakes sitting on the bedside table when he wakes, and he has to throw a pillow at Phil to get his attention through his headphones.

“Morning,” Phil says, throwing the pillow back, but it just lands in the space between their beds.

“Surprised you saved any for me,” Dan says, sitting cross-legged and wasting no time in digging in. It’s practically dinnertime back home, and he feels like he hasn’t eaten in days.

“There _is_ a limit to how many pancakes I can consume, believe it or not,” Phil says, laughing. Dan grins.

“You can’t lie to me, Phil. I see right through you.”

“Rude.”

Dan watches Phil edit while he eats, staying on his own bed and unable to hear when Phil slips his headphones back on. Editing is no fun to listen to anyway, but he feels shut out. Not that he blames Phil, really. He gets the impression that if they’re in the same room and talking for too long, they’ll fight.

This should be an interesting balancing act of a trip.

* * *

 

Dan pauses, forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth, when Phil gives him another one word answer. Phil’s glued to the tv screen, thoroughly distracted, and Dan tries not to jump to the conclusion that Phil’s mad at him. Maybe his day actually wasn’t that interesting.

“Phil?” he prompts, again.

“Yeah?” Phil turns the volume down a few notches and faces Dan, his expression unhelpfully neutral.

“Are you upset at me?”

Phil’s brows crease and he frowns, as though he’s confused by the question. Dan just waits.

“Why would I be?” Phil replies. When Dan says nothing, Phil’s eyes just shift back to the tv.

“That’s not what I asked,” Dan says, unrelenting. Something feels off, and it never does. Things with Phil always come naturally to him. “I know Chandler and Monica’s wedding is very touching, but you’ve seen it at least five times.”

“I’m mad that you’re interrupting my Friends time,” Phil says, pausing the show and facing Dan again.

“Sorry,” Dan retorts, completely devoid of the feeling. He doesn’t want to play games; he just wants to know what’s on Phil’s mind. They don’t tiptoe around problems. Whatever it is, he just wants to fix it. And he’s got a pretty good idea of what it is.

“Okay, um. I know it’s not a big deal and I really shouldn’t care. But some of the stuff you’ve been saying about us - about me - is kind of overkill, if you ask me. We’ve been doing just fine saying nothing.”

Dan sighs, bowing his head to stare at his plate. He thought that because Phil didn’t say anything, he didn’t mind. It’s so like Phil to just let problems fester until it’s too late, and Dan’s already gone off at people on Twitter and answered questions he should have ignored.

“I’m just trying to protect us,” Dan replies. “We can’t just say nothing anymore, Phil. There are too many people pushing. We have to push back.”

“They’ll just push back harder,” Phil retorts, no hesitation at all. “Or you’ll push them away. So what if people think we’re in a relationship? They’re _right._ ”

“Do you want them to know that? We’ve had plenty of chances, plenty of time to just come on out with it. But we keep choosing this. Do you think I like lying and treating you like my dirty little secret? I hate it, okay? I just want thousands of people to stop breathing down my neck about it. For like. Five minutes. That’d be so nice.”

Dan pushes his plate away from him, his appetite shot. Phil’s expression softens, and he reaches out for Dan’s hand. Dan hates himself for how quickly and automatically he flinches away.

“So what’s your solution, then?” Phil says, still looking at Dan’s hand.

“I don’t know. I’m just trying to get the world off our backs.” Dan wants to reach out and take Phil’s hand, tell him that he’s just conditioned himself to do that so thoroughly that it doesn’t matter if there are no cameras around. As if it’d matter to Phil. “You know I don’t mean most of what I say about us, right? I don’t think the idea of being with you is -” he can’t even wrap his tongue around the word _disgusting_ long enough to say it. God, he’s a piece of work for saying it at all in the first place. For even thinking that it was okay to say in any context.

“What if I don’t know that? It’s pretty convincing, considering how worked up you get at any mention of me,” Phil says, his gaze still anywhere but Dan’s face. He’s fucking hurt, and Dan’s a piece of shit.

“I don’t mean it,” Dan says, and how quietly it comes out reflects how much that matters.

* * *

 

Their first-official-day-in-Manhattan tourguide, Tim, picks them up from their hotel. Namely, they awkwardly shuffled in his direction when he appeared to be the only person waiting for someone until he looked up, greeted them, and ushered them outside.

He walks a few paces in front of them, clearing the path for Phil’s vlogging arm. They goof off and marvel at things that Dan’s positive aren’t unique to New York City, like hot dog stands and steaming sewers and aggressive street vendors, for two minutes of mostly useless footage. Dan doesn’t mind.

He hijacks Phil’s camera when they reach the top of the Empire State Building, and attempts to film a 360-degree view while he walks around the balcony, but too many people bump into him and get in his way for the editing to make up for. He leans against the railing beside Phil and reports his inability to secure the artistic shot.

“That’s okay,” Phil tells him, taking the camera back. “We can replace that with shots of your hair right now,” he says, pointing at Dan’s head. The wind picks up for seemingly inordinate amounts of time up here, messing their hair up into nearly incurable states of disrepair. Dan knows it’s giving him a look that’s less mohawk and more hedgehog, but he shrugs.

“I know, I’m a work of art.” Dan has to yell for Phil to hear him over the wind noise, but that helps the comedic effect. Phil laughs and snaps a picture of him, which Dan knows he’s going to threaten to delete later but not actually do it.

Dan pulls his sleeves over his hands and crosses his arms, because fuck if he expected it to be that chilly up here. Phil had the foresight to bring a proper jacket.

“It’s cold, wanna go back inside and look through the windows instead?”

Phil squints out at the view, as though making sure he’s seen it properly.

“Yeah, okay.”

They loiter in the enclosed area/gift shop for a while and make some small talk with Tim until he suggests they go, and Phil whines that he’s going to miss the view.

“You’ll get a better view when you take the helicopter tour,” Tim reminds him.

“We have a pretty good one from our room, too,” Dan adds. He wants to throw his arm around Phil, give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. It kills him that it’s not worth the risk.

x

They exchange a conspiratorial glance when Tim asks where they want to go for dinner. Tim doesn’t need to know that they’ve already had pancakes three times in the past forty-eight hours - they are _adults_ and they can do whatever they want - and takes them to his favourite diner.

Phil squeezes beside Dan in the booth, on his left side, so they’re definitely doing to be bumping arms the whole time.

“There’s so much confectioner’s sugar on here,” Dan muses, raking his fork through the pile of it on his pancakes. “You almost don’t need anything else on it.”

“Says you,” Phil says, grabbing the bottle of maple syrup from the middle of the table, dumping some on his pancakes, and setting it to his left.

“I said _almost,_ ” Dan whines, reaching across Phil to grab it back.

“Do you really need it?” Phil teases, grabbing the bottle and holding it out of Dan’s reach. “Don’t you have all the sweetness you need in your life?”

“No,” Dan says, rolling his eyes and stealing a glance at Tim, who’s just watching, bemused. He wonders what Tim thinks of them. “Now give me the liquid diabetes before I’m forced to announce to the whole of New York that you’re denying me sugary goodness.”

“Are you going to scale the side of a building and shout it, like Spiderman?” Phil asks, handing the syrup over.

“That’s more King Kong.”

“Oh,” Phil says, and that’s when Tim loses it, covering his mouth and laughing.

“You guys are really funny. You make a good pair.”

“Thanks,” Dan answers, politely, and he has no idea what Tim means by that. _Pair_ is such an ambiguous word.

There’s no reason for anyone at Fuse to know they’re a couple; they found Dan and Phil through Radio 1 and booked them a hotel room with two beds, no questions asked. But Dan can’t help but wonder if _everyone_ has some kind of inkling without them ever saying a word or acting any differently than they usually do in public. It’s a strange mix of emotions that he still hasn’t learnt to cope with yet.

Dan scoots to put a bit of distance between them when Phil starts filming again, mostly so that his face won’t be _that_ close to the camera, but also because no, he doesn’t want to be pressed up against Phil in public, and he’s a bad person.

x

Phil gives Dan a quick kiss goodnight before Dan goes to take a shower, and Dan knows that by the time he gets back, Phil’s going to be spread out on his own bed, with no room for Dan to squeeze in even if it felt okay.

He hears Phil watching their vlog footage back from the day as he, no doubt, transfers it to his laptop. Dan pauses mid-jean-removal to listen to their inane banter about how the whole of New York looks like a hipstery instagram post waiting to happen, and smiles to himself.

He cranks the temperature up as high as he can stand it, back facing the water stream. He flicks the trails of water that run down his fingers onto the wall and watch them drip back into the tub while he waits for his skin to adjust to the heat.

When Dan manages to push the invasive thoughts about how different things are between him and Phil out of his mind, and just spend time with him, they still have fun. They still make each other happy.

But between the good moments, when the quiet stretches a bit too long with words neither of them have the guts to say, when Dan aches to remember what it’s like to be madly in love with no other cares in the world, they’re fragile. And he’s terrified, more than anything else, that they’re going to slip away faster than the water running down the tiles - or Phil’s grip on the wall that one time they tried to fuck in the shower - if they acknowledge it. There’s still so much love between them, but Dan doesn’t know what to do with it anymore.

* * *

 

“Only ten thousand away now,” Phil says, turning his laptop around to show Dan his subscriber count. They had retreated to Phil’s bed for pre-sleep internet time, but Dan was just staring into space, waiting for Phil to update him, as he had every day for the past week.

Dan wishes he could share Phil’s excitement about danisnotonfire nearing a million subscribers. He’s happy and grateful and proud and everything in between, but he’s also terrified.

Nearly a million people have chosen to stay updated on his videos, a smaller subset to see his tweets, probably that many people who know and love Phil too. Thousands upon thousands of eyes watching his every move, expecting creative output - and some of them, just waiting for him to admit that him and Phil are dating.

He knows he’s being a fuckface; one of his greatest achievements in life is right around the corner, and all he can think about is something that not many people do, and most just do it for fun. People can speculate about his and Phil’s relationship all they want, and he can’t do much to stop them.

But that’s the problem.

Even rudely brushing off questions about Phil, refusing to come within three centimeters of potential contact with him, and outright denying it haven’t worked. He’s said some shit, and he knows it, and he knows Phil’s hurt by it. But he just doesn’t know what to do. He feels like the walls are closing in, that there’s a camera on him all the time, and it’s driven a palpable wedge between them.

If only he could put any of that into words when Phil looks at him expectantly, waiting for some kind of reaction.

“I dunno, it just. It seems like a lot more prying eyes, is all.” Dan stares at his lap, rubbing his hands together just to have something to do with them. He doesn’t know how to have this conversation.

Phil raises his eyebrows, setting his laptop aside and sitting cross-legged.

“I don’t know how to cope with this shit anymore, Phil. There are too many people watching me. Watching _us._ I know I keep indulging them but it’s just - you have to admit its gotten worse. Neither of us can do anything without ‘phan’ being thrown in our faces.”

Phil nods, slowly. “It has gotten a bit worse. That’s why I just ignore it. Don’t feed the beast.”

“But that’s it, isn’t it?” Dan says, running his fingers through his hair. “It just. I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t want to feed the beast. But there’s only so much I can do when it feels like the beast is breathing down my neck.”

Phil nods and bites his lip. He probably doesn’t know what to say.

“And I feel like shit for comparing our supporters to a beast - but for the sake of the metaphor, it’d be nice to have someone else fighting it with me.” He looks at Phil hopefully, but he still looks unsure.

“I don’t really think this is the best way to do it…” he trails off, as though he’s expecting Dan’s response but doesn’t know how to combat it.

“What’s the right way, then?” He can’t help the annoyance in his tone. “I think it’d help if we were at least on the same page. Because right now I feel like I’m going at it alone.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be if you didn’t just go off on people without telling me.” Phil makes an exasperated hand gesture between the two of them. “If this is supposed to be a joint thing, then why have you been going behind my back?”

“Because if there’s a beast right in front of you, you fight it.” Dan’s going all out with the gesticulations too, as though it’ll help Phil understand. “It’s better than not doing anything. It feels like you’re not even trying.”

The corners of Phil’s mouth tilt down, and he looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheek before he replies.

“I’m not trying? I’m not making it _worse_ by making our viewers feel guilty as hell for seeing what’s there, and alienating my boyfriend by making it seem like he means nothing to me, and then sleeping in his bed every night.”

“Oh, _you’re_ getting mixed signals, are you?” Dan snaps, angry that they’re even _having_ this argument. “Cos this is all news to me, Phil. Maybe if you had said something about how you felt about this before I dug myself this deep in a hole, we wouldn’t be in this mess. What am I supposed to do now? I can’t fix all the shit I’ve said. I can’t take it back.”

“Just _stop,_ ” Phil tells him, a hint of pleading in his voice. “It’s just making it worse. For them, for us… It’s not helping, Dan.”

Yeah, this is all Dan’s fault. He knows that. But having Phil point the finger stings like hell.

“I’m just trying to protect us, Phil. It’s coming out all wrong but the pressure’s getting to me and it feels like you’re not there for me, cos you don’t like how I’m doing it.” He sighs, running his hands over his face before shrugging with his whole body. “By all means, just fucking tell me what to do.”

“Do I look like I know what to do?” Phil replies, his expression pained. “I don’t know either. I don’t always have the answers.”

Dan stays silent. If he’s wrong, and Phil doesn’t know what to do, then what the fuck are they meant to do? He can’t just do nothing. He wants to fight back, he wants to fight for them. But not if it’s making them like this.

“I dunno, Dan,” Phil sighs. “Maybe there isn’t a clear answer. Maybe it would be better if we didn’t have to worry about it.” He pauses, his eyes on the duvet. “Maybe we should just break up.”

Dan’s heart stops, his stomach falls, and he stares at Phil, because how the fuck he jumped to that, Dan has no idea. He can usually interpret how Phil’s thoughts jump from A to J, but he’s too gutted to pay it any mind.

Phil’s eyes are wide, his face flushed a ghostly pale.

“How does that fix anything?” Dan says, his voice shaky and quiet.

“It doesn’t,” Phil says quickly. “I know it doesn’t fix anything. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Now you know how I feel,” Dan replies, biting back tears.

“No,” Phil pleads, making an aborted reach for Dan’s hand. “No, I didn’t mean that.”

“This is what I meant. When I said you weren’t trying. You don’t want to fight for us. You’d rather give up.”

“Dan, I really didn’t -”

Dan raises a hand to quiet him, because nothing Phil can say would make it okay. He knows he deserves this. It’s a fucking wonder Phil hasn’t just up and left him without warning. Now Dan can know that he’s at least thought about it. And he deserves it.

“I’m sorry, Phil,” he says. “I can’t talk about this now.”

Dan locks his bedroom door behind him.

x

Dan definitely couldn’t sleep if he tried, especially cos he can hear Phil pacing and occasionally knocking. He can’t let it go on for too long, as the only person he wants to talk to about his fight with Phil is Phil.

“Hey,” Phil says breathlessly when Dan finally opens the door. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Dan replies, clearing his throat, as that came out way more choked-up than he wanted it to. “I’m sorry too. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t been such a selfish loudmouth -”

“No, stop that,” Phil says, cupping the side of Dan’s face. Dan loathes himself and everything he stands for when he backs away. Phil closes his eyes for a second and then opens them, wide and glassy and pleading. “I don’t want to break up. That’s the last thing I’d ever want.”

“Me neither,” Dan says, moderately relieved to find something they can agree on. But Phil still suggested it. He saw it as an option when it had never even crossed Dan’s mind. Maybe he was being a dick, but deep down, he was acting out of love. What could Phil’s possible motive for wanting to break up be? Definitely not that.

“You understand, don’t you? We’ve both said things we don’t mean.”

Dan nods, and on a cognitive level, he knows that Phil’s sorry and yeah, they’ve both fucked up. But he just feels so _gutted_ and lost. He doesn’t know what to do from here. He doesn’t know what the future will spell for them, now that they’ve decided to stay together but they still have no idea what to do, with this seemingly unbreachable distance stretched out before them.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Okay,” Phil says, his voice small. “We should probably go to sleep?”

“Sleep sounds like a logical next step,” Dan says, glancing back at his own bed. “But I think I’m gonna sleep in here tonight.”

“Okay. Alright, yeah,” Phil agrees, clearly defeated.

Dan takes Phil’s face in his hands, kissing him softly and quickly and trying to put as much of an apology into it as he can. Phil sinks into Dan’s embrace, wrapping his arms round Dan’s waist. Dan wants so desperately to let Phil stay with him, but it’ll only make things more confusing and hurtful. He just needs some space.

“G’night,” he says, his voice low, before he releases Phil.

“Night,” Phil replies, and Dan watches him retreat to his own room.

Dan shuts the door behind him, and when he turns to face his bed, it’s never looked bigger.

* * *

 

Dan’s feet ache from all the walking they did that day - around Times Square, in Radio City, and getting lost again while trying to find some themed diner called ‘Vynl’ that Phil looked up and desperately wanted to eat at. They had to wait almost two hours for a table, but Phil loved the ambiance of the place, so Dan just ate his overpriced burger and playfully nudged Phil’s foot under the table to indicate putting his own bullshit aside.

They decide against going out for cocktails, as they expect bars in Manhattan to have very different atmospheres than musically themed restaurants, so they order room service and retreat to their room’s balcony.

“I miss the view from our Manchester apartment,” Dan says, nearing the end of his second drink. “Even the prison.” From the fifty-seventh floor in what should be pitch-darkness, New York beats the hell out of the prison. The lights coming from the hotel across the busy street take up most of their view, but much taller buildings dot the landscape a bit further out.

“Me too,” Phil agrees, circling the rim of his glass with one finger. “I like London, though. The view may not be as nice, but we can spy on our neighbours.”

“That’s always a plus,” Dan says, a snort-laugh merging with a hiccup. Christ, he’s barely even tipsy.

Phil finishes his drink and sets it on the small table - which came with no chairs and an ashtray - and leans on his forearms at the railing. Dan follows suit, bracing his hands on the ledge with straight arms and standing to Phil’s right.

“I think we kind of outgrew Manchester,” Phil muses. “A bigger city’s what we needed.”

“Yeah. This is a bit much for me, though.”

Dan glances at Phil, who’s smiling in wide-eyed wonderment at the stretch of the skyscraper a block over.

“I dunno, you can’t really compete with this view. Bet you couldn’t see this many lights if you drove out to the middle of nowhere and looked at the stars.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, smiling softly when Phil catches his eye. “Hey Phil?”

“Yeah?”

Dan points to a room at the hotel across the way. “See that not-star?”

Phil scoots over to Dan’s line of sight, placing a hand on the railing between Dan’s right hand and his side and leaning his head against Dan’s left shoulder. Phil must be a bit more tipsy than Dan thought if he’s falling for this, but he’s not complaining.

“Where?”

“There.” Dan extends his arm further, and Phil follows the gesture.

“Yeah.”

“It says you’re a nerd.”

“Shut _up,_ ” Phil whines, squeezing Dan’s side and laughing when Dan flinches. Dan gives him a half-hearted shove, but Phil resists, wrapping his arms around Dan’s waist.

“Get _off_ me,” Dan says, laughing, which renders his command null and void. He turns to properly face Phil, hands resting on his shoulders automatically. He gives an amused exhale. “Seems we’ve wound up in a compromising position.”

“Seems we have,” Phil replies, a small smirk curving his mouth. “What _ever_ should we do about it?”

“You tell me.” Dan’s had better lines, but he hasn’t felt like he could _really_ kiss Phil in such a long time, he doesn’t care. He tugs the sleeves of his jumper over his hands, grabs the sides of Phil’s collar, and pulls him in. It’s breathless and desperate, and Dan squeezes his eyes shut hard, willing himself to forget everything that’s wrong and just let it feel right for a while.

Phil kisses him back with even more fervor, making Dan lean back and grip the sides of his face for balance before he straightens them back up. Their lips connect in short brushes, with none of the necessary reverence. Dan can feel Phil’s breath on his mouth when they pause, foreheads touching and eyes still shut.

“I love you, you know that, yeah?” Phil asks, his voice low.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Dan replies, kissing him again. Phil’s voice in his head is too loud - _maybe we should just break up_ \- and he can’t remember the last time he told Phil he loves him, and they’re fucking _outside_.

Dan pulls away with a sigh and presses a kiss to Phil’s forehead.

“We should go inside.”

They both know no one would see them from that high up, at nighttime, on the balcony of some random hotel. But you can never be too careful.

x

Interviewing Fall Out Boy is such a ludicrous, obscenely incredible task that it requires them to restate that it happened at varying volumes and levels of disbelief all day long, even after they turn off the lights for the night. Dan’s sat at the edge of his bed, scowling at Phil’s lump on the other one when he asks if it was _really_ necessary that Dan tell them that he used to cry to their music.

“Yes it was, Phil,” Dan retorts, using a loud, sleepover-esque whisper.

“Was it? Was it _really?_ ” Phil teases, and Dan rolls his eyes.

“Absolutely. I had to clear the air, you know? Just throw that out there and get it out of the way.”

“Of course you did.”

Dan forces himself to get up and close the curtains, as a flash of lightning reminds him that they’re still open because they’re both lazy. He lingers at the door for a moment, watching the downpour blur the view and the wind blow the rain against the glass, before he pulls the draws the curtains closed. The thunder lags way behind, rumbling only when Dan’s sat back down on his bed. It’s gonna be a long storm.

“‘S really coming down out there?” Phil says, and Dan nods.

“Yup,” he says, having to raise his voice over the patter of rain against the window, which only provides further emphasis.

He stares at Phil again, curled up on the right side of the bed, and his stomach aches for a time when he didn’t hesitate before climbing into bed beside Phil, cos he knew he belonged there. He knows he still does; things aren’t as bad as they used to be, and sometimes, he’s so happy to be with Phil that he forgets it almost crumbled out from underneath him. It’s hard, but it’s never been unbearable, and maybe that’s a good sign.

They’re not fighting or particularly upset with each other - they just don’t know how to restore the ease. You can’t grow out of something without growing into something new, so maybe that’s the answer here. Maybe someone just needs to take the leap.

Dan’s stomach churns as he rises and nearly trips over nothing, laying on the left side of the bed and curling up like a question mark.

Phil scrambles to turn over, clearly having been jolted from half-consciousness. “Dan? What’s wrong?”

“Just afraid of thunder,” Dan says, his voice shaky.

“No, you’re not,” Phil says, slowly, as though it’s an obvious mistake.

“I know,” Dan replies. He swallows, his mouth having gone completely dry.

Phil tugs the covers out from underneath Dan with so much force that Dan nearly falls off the bed, so he lifts his butt and allows Phil to reshuffle the sheets and throw them over him. Phil leaves his hold on the sheets, arm tossed over Dan’s side.

“C’mere,” Dan says, and Phil needs no further invitation to sink into Dan’s embrace, still gripping the sheets tightly around them.

“‘M sorry,” Phil murmurs into the hollow of Dan’s neck. “I know this is all my fault.”

“It’s not,” Dan insists. “I backed you into a corner. I’m so sorry, Phil. I’ve been so awful. I’ve acted so ashamed of us, but in reality I couldn’t be prouder of you - of us. I just. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

It’s easy for it to come pouring out in the dark, with the silences disrupted by the rain and the assurance that Phil’s not going anywhere. Dan threads his fingers through Phil’s hair.

“Me neither,” Phil breathes. “But we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

“Yeah.” Dan stares up at the ceiling. “Do you think we can?”

“Yes,” Phil says resolutely. “I know we can. I believe in us.”

Dan lets out a small sigh. Fuck, if they could survive the past few months, and still find enough left to salvage when the smoke clears, they could do anything. Dan takes Phil’s hand from the edge of the duvet and presses it to his chest, his fingers filling the gaps between Phil’s. Not to prove anything or provide comfort - just because he wants to.

“Me too.”

 

* * *

 

_Thank you SO much for your continued support of this series! If you liked it, why not leave a comment and/or come say hi over on[tumblr](http://thatsmistertoyou.tumblr.com)?_


End file.
